Alliance
by Laurensdy
Summary: **Morgan/Reid established. Fluff, smut forthcoming, hence the rating. Smut is labeled, rated M for those but otherwise it's more of a T**  An unlikely pact surfaces when Morgan brings Reid home to meet the family.
1. Chapter 1

"**Any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is senseless and useless." –Adolf Hitler**

The soft nudging against Reid's right thigh slowly awakened him, coaxing him out of sleep with each gentle thrust.

"Mmph," he grunted, shifting his weight and pulling the covers tighter around him.

It continued—a bit harder, more direct.

"Derek, it's four-thirty in the morning."

A rough patch of cheek stubble grazed the back of Reid's neck. "Mmm, baby," a deep voice growled, "you know this is the last time we'll get to do this 'till Sunday night."

"The flight leaves at nine-thirteen," Reid grumbled, adjusting his pillow and shrugging off Morgan's advances. "Judging approximately thirty-eight minutes to get through the airport, forty-two minutes to get there, accounting for traffic and parking—"

"—which we won't have to, 'cause of the bike—"

"—and an hour and twelve minutes to get ready, we don't have to get up until precisely 6:17."

"Which gives us _precisely_ an hour and forty-seven minutes to tide me over 'till we get back," Morgan reasoned, massaging his partner's bony hip through the comforter.

"Derek," Reid looked over, scowling slightly, "your average time between ministration and orgasm is around two hours and twenty-two minutes."

"My what?" Morgan sat up on his elbows. "You been timing me?"

"Not on purpose," Reid answered, looking up innocently.

"What's my best time, then?"

Reid blinked, accessing his mental Rolodex. "Fifty-eight minutes, on March twenty-first," he nodded.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "Pretty Boy, what _am_ I going to do with you?"

"I don't know," Reid said, rolling onto his back toward Morgan, "but you've only got an hour and forty-five minutes to do it."

"Challenge accepted," Morgan smirked, pulling Reid into a deep kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Morgan opened one eye, dispensing the charade that he was actually going to get more than fifteen minutes of sleep while sitting on the cramped coach seat.

"Something wrong?" he asked, startling Reid away from the window. When he mutely shook his head, Morgan opened the other eye.

"You haven't turned the page for almost a whole minute."

Reid's brow crinkled, the corners of his mouth creasing in an all-too-familiar expression. "Little nervous, that's all."

"Don't be," Morgan took his colleague's hand. "They liked you before; they'll like you now."

Reid tried to smile. "Except before, they met me as a fellow agent." He squeezed Morgan's hand. "And now, they're meeting me as…" his gaze trailed to the right.

"As my boyfriend," Morgan finished quietly, an irrepressible grin manifesting on his face.

Reid smiled sheepishly, looking up at Morgan and raising his eyebrows slightly.

"And you'll be excellent, just like you always are," Morgan concluded, stealing a quick smooch on Reid's left temple.

"I will admit," Reid said quietly, glancing at the panel above them in response to the _DING_ of the seatbelt light, "the circumstances of this meeting are decidedly better than the last time."

"That's my boy," Morgan declared, releasing Reid's hand to give him a light clap on the shoulder as the plane began its descent into Chicago.


	3. Chapter 3

"Thanks for coming with me, Spence," Morgan said, taking his hand as they strolled away from the car. "Usually, I come here alone."

"I know," Reid nodded, opening the cemetery gate. "I'm—I appreciate you taking me." Morgan looked at his partner, a single brow crinkling. "I mean," Reid continued, "this is a part of your life that's intensely personal. The fact that you're choosing to share it with me…" he brought a hand to the back of his neck, "I just, I appreciate it."

As they neared the modest headstone, Reid released his partner's hand to wrap his arm around Morgan's waist, pulling him close and his left leg falling into step with Morgan's right. But when they stood directly in front of it, Morgan shrugged out of Reid's embrace to stand a few steps ahead of him, his hands together and his head bowed. Reid bored his hands into his pockets, waiting in silence for Morgan's signal that he had paid his respects. After a few long moments, Morgan turned around.

"Do you think it's weird that I come here?" He glanced back at the stone. "That I…visit him?"

Reid shook his head, his chestnut hair wavering in the light wind. "Not at all."

Morgan gave a small half-smile. "You wanna get outta here?"

"One more thing," Reid said, his fingers wrapping around the short stems he had in his pocket. "I…I brought something."

Morgan stared in confusion at the white stringy flowers and tiny fruit pods, soft and tender in Reid's right hand. "It's Eucalyptus melliodora," Reid explained, holding it up to show Morgan.

"Like, koala food?" Morgan asked, not understanding.

"The Eucalyptus plant is largely believed to symbolize protection, although I don't usually participate in superstitious things like this," Reid continued, nearing the headstone. "By placing the flowers at a certain place, it's thought that that place is protected from malice. I—I chose melliodora because white's a symbol of purity—that's more a fact than a superstition." He laid them down gently in front of the granite base. "They grow mostly on the southeast coast of Australia."

"How the hell'd you get it?" Morgan asked, tentatively taking a few steps toward his partner. Reid turned and gave only a sly half-smile as his response. "Thanks, Spence…that means a lot to me."

"I know," Reid said, rising and taking Morgan's hand.

As they neared the black sedan Morgan had rented for the weekend, he saw they were not alone. A few thugs lingered threateningly around the car—waiting for them.

"Get behind me, Spence."

"What's the matter?" Reid asked, squinting. "You're being paranoid."

"I know those guys," Morgan said quietly. "Get behind me." When his partner did not comply, Morgan stepped ahead, putting his right shoulder in front of Reid's left.


	4. Chapter 4

"Junior," Morgan said curtly as they approached the small group. "Long time, no see."

"Derek Morgan," Junior said, nodding his shaved head. "I heard you was comin' to town, knew I'd find you here."

"Didn't know you wouldn't be alone, though," a rail-thin man with ebony skin said with a grin, stepping forward and eyeing Reid.

"Back off, Loco," Morgan said, putting another shoulder between him and Reid. Behind him, Reid swallowed hard. "He's none of your business."

"So it's true?" another man asked. "Derek Morgan's a French-fried faggot?"

"Go fuck yourself, Wheels," Morgan spat. "I dare you," he said, with gritted teeth, to the man's motion to approach him. Wheels weighed his options, then relaxed back against the car.

"Why you looking for me, anyway?" Morgan said, turning back to Junior.

"It's about Rodney," he said, his eyes set and hard.

"What about him?"

"He's dead."

"I'm sorry," Morgan said, his expression and tone blank. "Why does that matter to me?"

Junior stared at him for a second or two. "Because he didn't just die."

Morgan raised a brow, unimpressed. "That's not exactly uncommon out here."

"You don't get it," Loco said, "he didn't get offed by no gang."

"How do you know?" Morgan asked.

"'Cuz we found him, and he didn't even look dead—looked like he was sleepin'," Junior said. "When gangs kill, you can tell they're dead from a mile away."

"What was the cause of death?" Reid asked, eliciting a glare from his partner.

Junior shrugged. "They barely even do police reports for guys like us."

"Eyeball didn't even get no chalk line," Wheels said, a dry grin crossing his face.

"How many have been found like that?"

"Rodney makes four."

"So you need my help?" Morgan clarified. Junior gave a stiff nod.

"It—it doesn't exactly work like that," Reid said, stepping out from behind Morgan. "The Behavioral Analysis Unit has to be invited by the local—"

"Nobody asked you, French-fry," Loco said coldly.

Morgan glanced at him. "Watch yourself, boy." Turning back to Junior, he added, "He's right. Local PD has to call us in. Without that, we're stepping on their turf."

"The cops here don't give two shits about Rodney," Junior shook his head. "You have to do something."

"No, I don't," Morgan concluded.

"Wouldn't it suck," Wheels began, pushing himself off the car, "to come home one day to find your little cracker how we found Rodney?"

"Stay the hell away from him," Morgan said, moving between him and Reid.

"I think my guys in D.C. would be able to find a little white boy like you," Loco said, looking Reid up and down. "Whatchu think about that, French-fry?"

Morgan approached Loco. "If you put your hands on him, so help me God…"

"Morgan," Junior said, stopping the ensuing fight. "Somethin's really goin' down." He looked down the street, then back at Morgan. "I really need your help."

"There's nothing I can do," Morgan snapped.

"You didn't even try," Junior protested.

Morgan sighed, letting his eyes close. "He's right," Reid said quietly. "We—we could go to the police department, talk to them, maybe talk to the coroner about the autopsy reports to get a foothold."

"Are you serious?" Morgan asked incredulously. "Jeez, Spence, two of these guys just threatened your life."

Reid glanced at Loco, then shrugged. "Four people could be a serial killer. We should at least make sure."

"I'll do what I can," Morgan turned back to Junior, "because _he_ wants to help," he added, turning to Wheels and Loco.

Junior stuck out his hand. "Thanks, man."

Morgan shook it. "I'll be in touch."


	5. Chapter 5

"More potatoes, Spencer?" Morgan's mother gestured with the serving spoon.

Reid shook his head, swallowing. "N—no thank you, Mrs. Morgan."

"Please, honey, call me Fran."

Morgan brought their glasses back to the table. "It's funny—this boy remembers everything he's ever read, but you must've told him that four times today."

Reid smiled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Five, actually."

Sarah resituated herself on the wooden chair. "Did Derek ever tell you about the time he set off a firecracker in the—"

"Oh, no," Morgan protested. "Not this story."

Reid leaned forward. "Yes, this story—what happened?"

"He was mad at me," Desiree began, "he was probably eight or nine at the time, and I took his toy car—"

"It was not a toy," Morgan interjected, "it was a 1967 Chevrolet Chevelle model car." He looked at Reid. "Red. First model I ever built."

Desiree rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I was playing with it and broke off one of the wheels."

"She shouldn't've even been in my room."

"So Derek snuck into our room after we had gone to bed," Sarah continued, "and set off a single firecracker under her bed."

"Scared the shit out of me," Desiree added, "mom and dad freaked. Remember? He thought someone was in here with a gun."

Fran laughed. "Oh, yeah. When he found out it was Derek…"

Morgan slapped his hand down on the table. "And _that's_ where the story ends." He wrapped his arm around Reid's shoulder. "Aren't you glad there's none of these horror stories at your house?"

"Actually, I'm a little jealous," Reid gave a small smile, "I would've liked siblings." He looked at Sarah and Desiree. "The only trouble I ever got into was for reading ahead in class." The girls stared at him blankly.

"Don't worry," Fran leaned over and patted his arm. "Derek's got enough of those stories for the both of you."

"Thanks, mama," Morgan said, rising to take his and Reid's plates to the sink. "Nice to know I'm getting thrown under the bus for family entertainment."

"If you didn't do so many entertaining things…" Sarah quipped, carrying her own plate and the bowl of potatoes the short walk to the kitchen counter, Desiree following behind.

"Thank you, for everything, Mrs. Mor—Fran," Reid said. "I really appreciate it."

"It's nothing, Spencer," she patted his arm again, "you're a sweetheart." Reid smiled toothlessly, looking down. "You really like my baby, don't you?"

Reid met her eyes, then looked toward the kitchen where Morgan and his sisters were currently engaged in a dishsoap bubble fight. "Yeah," he swallowed, "I really do."

"I've been waiting a long time for him to meet someone like you," she said, drawing his attention back again. "Someone kind, caring," she reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, "and so, so smart."

He laughed nervously, and cleared his throat. "D—Derek's all those things, too."

"I know, baby, but only someone with the light inside of 'em like you've got could make him see that."

"See what?" Morgan appeared, collecting the rest of the table items.

"Nothing, baby," Fran said, pushing back her chair. "I'm gonna go on and get ready for bed."

"You need any help?"

"For goodness sakes," she rose from the table, "I'm not an invalid yet." Morgan laughed and apologized. "Goodnight, kids." She looked down at Reid. "Goodnight, Spencer."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Mor—Fran." Reid followed Morgan back toward the kitchen, but stopped him before his sisters could hear. "Morgan, I've been thinking."

"'Bout what, Pretty Boy?"

"I—If we could get a look at the most recent body we might—"

"You been thinkin' about the case?" Reid nodded. "Look, I already told you, there's almost nothing we can do. The cops here don't exactly like me, remember?"

"But you told Junior we would help."

"Because _you_ wanted to," Morgan said, a little harsher than he'd meant. "Can't we just enjoy the weekend?"

"Loco said his guys would find me," Reid said, rocking back on his heels. "I don't think he's bluffing."

"Spence, you know I'd never let anything happen to you."

"It doesn't matter," Reid shook his head. "He wouldn't've said that unless your help really, really mattered." He stepped forward, lowered his voice. "They wouldn't have come to you if it was a normal gang warfare situation."

"I know that. But getting us to believe it and getting the police to act are two different things."

Reid looked away. "We should at least try. Four dead people is still a crime, even if it's people nobody would miss."

Morgan took his chin, directed his gaze back. "I know. I'm sorry." He leaned forward and gave Reid a long, still kiss. "And we will try. First thing tomorrow."

Reid tried to smile. "I can't believe you set off a firecracker in your sister's bedroom over a toy car."

"Model," Morgan corrected. "And why not?" he turned to leave. "I fiercely protect the things that are mine."


	6. Chapter 6

"Sorry, boys," Gordinski said flatly. "Can't help you."

"We just want to look at the case files, Gordinski," Morgan repeated, slowly following him around the floor. "Just make sure nothing was overlooked."

"And I told you," he wheeled around, "the answer is no. Each one was investigated, each one was closed. Now please get out."

Reid took a crack at it. "With the number of cases that the Chicago Police Department deals with on a daily basis, it's entirely possible that an aspect of the case was—"

"Look, kid," Gordinski turned to him, "I appreciate the moxie you have in coming up here with Derek, but my officers did all they could."

"Did you determine if the cause of death was natural?"

Gordinski raised a brow at Reid. "Excuse me?"

Reid brought his hands together. "Four bodies have been found in the exact same way. In our work, that can serve as a signature—"

"The cause of death was a cocaine overdose," Gordinski half-barked. "In all four cases, a large overdose stopped the heart. And in the crowd these guys were in, that's practically natural. Are we done here?"

Reid swallowed hard, the corners of his mouth creasing.

The large cop turned back to Morgan. "It was great to see you again, Derek. Now take your friend and get out of my sight." Morgan took Reid by the arm and strode quickly to the elevator.

"We could talk to Hotch, ask him to call in a personal favor," Reid said, looking into the middle distance and thinking hard. "He's got to know the situation isn't normal, that something—"

"Spencer." Reid stopped, looking straight at Morgan. "Rodney and the other guys died from a coke overdose. The local cops aren't interested in investigating it. The end."

The elevator let out a tacit _DING_ to signal that they had reached the street level floor. "What do we do now?" Reid asked quietly, looking not at Morgan but out into the hallway.

"We find Junior and tell him we tried." Morgan exited the elevator, but Reid didn't.

"He won't like that," he finally said.

"He'd like it even less if we didn't give him an answer at all."

Junior wasn't surprised. But he doubted the cause of death.

"That's a buncha shit," he spat. "Cokeheads don't lay like that when they die."

"Does this mean it's over?" Wheels asked, his face skeptical. "There's nothing we can do 'cept let our boys keep dying?"

Morgan shrugged. "Gordinski wasn't too happy about our even being there."

Reid nodded. "I would suggest keeping pressure on the local cops—if they sense there's a need, they're much more likely to alert the FBI."

Loco glared at Reid. "Maybe if you went back and asked him real nice, Whitey…"

"Watch it," Morgan said shortly.

"This isn't over," Junior resigned. "It's not gonna stop."

"Find me if another body turns up," Morgan said, fishing a card out of his jacket pocket.

"So if another boy gets offed, we might get some fucking help," Wheels said coldly.

"Shut your mouth, man," Junior ordered. "Thank you, Derek."

Morgan shrugged again. "Sorry we couldn't do more."

The pair turned to leave, Loco's voice calling behind Reid. "Remember what I said, French-fry."

Opening the driver-side door, Morgan turned back to the three. "And you remember what I said—I'll fold you like a piece of paper."


	7. Chapter 7

Morgan pushed play on his voicemail a third time.

_Hey, Derek, it's me—Junior. There's another body…everything's the same. You gotta get back out here._

He pushed the _Save_ button again. It had been a week and a half since he'd gotten the call, but even thinking about asking Hotch to bring the team to Chicago gave Morgan a slight headache. After all, it wouldn't take long for the team to wonder why Reid had been home with him for the weekend.

"Something wrong?" Reid asked across the cubicle, startling Morgan out of his thought. "You look tense."

Morgan shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine." Reid stared at him, perplexed and not believing him, but eventually returned to the open file folder atop his desk.

After the sun had gone down, Reid grabbed his leather messenger bag and headed for Morgan's desk. "Let's get out of here—go get a drink."

Morgan looked up at his partner. "Whoa, Spencer Reid, gonna hit the bar."

Reid laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah—If they don't check ID, I might even get in."

"Did someone say drinks?" Prentiss asked, coming out of Garcia's office with her. "Mind if we join?"

"Not at all," Reid smiled. "How about the others?"

"That's definitely a no," Hotch said, shuffling some folders. "Jack's tee-ball game is tomorrow and he's more nervous than anything."

"And I have to get back to Henry and Will," JJ said sadly. "Some other time?"

"Sure," Morgan nodded. "Rossi?"

"I'm too old for that kind of thing," he said, meandering down the short staircase. "You guys have fun."

Reid selected the bar—a trendy place downtown, the classy polished floors and crisp white tablecloths clashing nicely with hip décor and swift jazz music. While Prentiss and Garcia flirted their way into some free drinks, Reid asked Morgan again what was wrong.

"Nothing, Spence, I told you I'm fine."

"You listened to your voicemail three times today, and twice yesterday. And because we've been in the office every day for almost two weeks, the likelihood of your voicemail having more than five separate messages is almost impossible."

Morgan sighed. "It was from Junior." He looked at Reid for a reaction, and found none. "There's another body."

"We have to go back," Reid deadpanned.

"How?"

"Get Hotch to call it in—he can persuade them to open the case."

Morgan creased an eyebrow. "Again, how?"

Reid squinted, thinking. "We—we could say that they threatened us into helping."

"No, Spence, they threatened _you_." Morgan pressed his lips together. "And how long do you think it'll take Hotch to guess why you were in Chicago with me?"

Reid looked at his partner, his big brown eyes sad and optionless. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"That was almost too easy!" Prentiss returned to the table with two victorious margaritas. "What's the matter, Reid?"

"I need some air," he mumbled, pushing his wooden chair back and heading for the front door. Morgan sighed again, his head dropping into his hand.

"What's the matter with Boy Wonder?" Garcia asked, sitting down and sipping at her scarlet drink.

Morgan pushed his own chair back. "What _isn't _the matter with that kid?"

Outside, the night was breezy and cool. Even in the metropolis, the street seemed deserted, without a car on the road and Reid nowhere to be seen.

"Spence?" Morgan called, a bad feeling stemming in his gut as he cautiously walked toward the alleyway between the bar and an empty storefront. "Spencer."

Noises of a skirmish against the grimy brick emanated into the street. His hand on the holster of his gun, Morgan turned into the dark alley.

"Don't do it," a low voice said, just before the arm behind the voice cocked a pistol in the darkness. "Don't make me shoot him."


	8. Chapter 8

"Derek—" Reid gasped, turning Morgan's attention elsewhere.

Reid stood pressed against the opposite wall, his bleeding lip and ruffled suit jacket visible in the moonlight. A man Morgan's size held him two or three inches off the ground by wedging a baseball bat under his chin. His bony hands awkwardly trying to free his throat, Reid struggled, his loafers scraping against the rough terrain where the brick met the asphalt.

"What do you want?" Morgan asked in a low voice.

"Junior already told you," the voice in the darkness said. "It's been two weeks."

"It's not as easy as—"

Reid gasped, a hiss of air escaping his throat when the man jerked the bat. "They found another body today," the bat wielder growled. "Did you know that, Cracker?" Reid's head gave a tiny shake, his dirty hair etching a shadow across his face.

"Okay," Morgan said. "Okay. I will. I'll tell my boss tomorrow." He approached the man with the bat, his hands raised. "Just let him go, and we'll get there as soon as we can."

"How do we know you're not lying now?"

"You're just gonna have to trust me."

There was a beat of silence, save for Reid's panicked breaths against the brick wall.

"You better not fuck up again," the man with the gun said, just before he stepped forward and punched Morgan in the eye—hard.

Morgan brought a fist to his face, his knees crumpling. A foot collided with his upper lip, and the blood pounded loudly in his ears. He heard Reid fall to the ground, his knees and hands landing first on the dirty ground. When Morgan looked up, the two men were gone, and his partner crouched next to him.

"Are you okay?" Reid asked softly. "Oh, Derek—you're bleeding."

Morgan spat out some blood. "I'm fine. I need to look at you in the light."

He struggled to stand, helping Reid and leading him back out to stand in front of the bar, where a single streetlight gave sufficient light to gauge each other's injuries.

"Derek, I'm sorry. I—I was standing out here, and they just—they just grabbed me—"

"Baby," Morgan ran his thumb over Reid's bottom lip, badly split from the scuffle. His eyes closed, and he slid the other hand into Reid's dirty hair, grimy from the old and slimy brick in the alley. "Spencer, I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Reid said, shaking his head and running his own hand over Morgan's face—the skin around his left eye was already beginning to swell. "We need to get you home."

"Let me see your neck."

"My neck's fine."

"Then let me see."

"Don't bother, it's fine."

Morgan kissed him, hard and passionately. Reid's eyes slid closed, and his knees buckled slightly. Abruptly stopping, Morgan stole a look at Reid's neck and collarbone. Both were scraped and would be black and blue by morning.

"Oh, Pretty Boy."

"I told you we have to go back," Reid concluded.

"First, let's go home and have a hot bath."

"What about Prentiss and Garcia?"

"They're women. They'll be fine."


	9. Chapter 9 :Smut:

Reid let himself sink slowly into the hot water, unable to hold back an "Ahh." His eyelids slid closed, and he leaned gingerly back against the marble backside of the tub.

Morgan stepped in beside him, cautiously lowering one leg at a time. "Jeez, you like it hot."

"Getting the wider tub was definitely worth the investment," Reid said, opening his eyes. "Did you know that when William Howard Taft was elected president, he had an entirely separate tub installed at the White House to accommodate his size?" He slid over to let Morgan sit down.

"No," he answered, planting a kiss on Reid's temple. "There's only enough room in his relationship for _one_ person to know everything."

"How's your eye?"

"I'll live," Morgan grunted. "How's your neck?"

"I'll live," Reid said, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Spence," Morgan wrapped his arm around his partner, "I'm really, really sorry I couldn't—"

"Don't," Reid cut him off. "It's not your fault." Morgan looked as though he was going to respond, then didn't. "Let's just forget it."

"Sounds like a plan," Morgan slowly brought his mouth against Reid's, running his tongue across his lover's bottom lip (taking extreme care to avoid the split portion on the far left side).

Reid's hand gripped the back of Morgan's scalp, rotating his head and opening his mouth to grant Morgan's tongue entry. Shifting his hips, he easily straddled Morgan's thighs, rubbing the tip of Morgan's cock with his own long, thin shaft.

Morgan wrapped his strong arms around Reid's waist, pulling him close in the hot bathwater. He clenched his dark thighs together, lightly squeezing Reid's balls between them and eliciting a pleasured cry from Reid's open and busy mouth. Lowering his right hand, Morgan squeezed his Pretty Boy's ass cheek with a growl, a lion's way of saying _This belongs to me_.

In the world outside their bathtub, the house phone rang, and Clooney barked at it in response. Reid pulled away just enough to speak.

"The phone's ringing," he said breathlessly.

"The machine'll get it," Morgan countered huskily, lowering his left hand to give the other cheek a good squeeze and chasing Reid's face with his.

_Derek, it's your mama. I just wanted to let you know, Cherise Tyler came by the house today looking for you. She called a few weeks ago, but I'd forgotten to give you the message. She'd like to hear from you, catch up. Say hi to Spencer for me. Love you baby, g'dbye._

Reid pulled away again, farther this time. "Who's Cherise Tyler?"

Morgan crinkled an eyebrow. "Nobody…why?"

The younger agent's brow furrowed. "Why would she be contacting you?"

Morgan looked into the middle distance, remembering. "She was an old girlfriend—from high school, forever ago." He brought a hand to his scalp. "I don't know what she'd want with me now."

Reid didn't respond, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Spence, I must've talked about her to you before—I told you about all my past relationships."

"You've never mentioned her, Derek," Reid said shortly. "If you had, I'd remember."

"Well, if I didn't, I'm sorry," Morgan said. "Guess that's just how little she meant to me."

Reid averted his gaze, brow still furrowed and mouth still thin. His chocolate eyes were hard, and the angle of his neck made the growing bruises across his collarbone more visible than ever. As guilty as it made him feel, Morgan loved seeing his Pretty Boy get jealous.

"Here," Morgan said, pushing Reid off his lap and against the far wall of the tub.

"What are you doing?" his partner mumbled.

"Apologizing," Morgan said, taking a deep breath and disappearing under the water.

Reid's eyebrows automatically rose when he felt Morgan's soft lips close around the tip of his cock and begin a swift descent. His back stiffened, and he was unable to stifle a soft coo when he felt the darker agent's teeth grazing the base of his shaft to accompany the light tickling on his balls.

Coming up for air, Morgan looked up at his partner. "Forgive me?"

"Only because you're irresistible," Reid answered quietly, pushing Morgan back so he could take a crack at it.


	10. Chapter 10

The elevator opened, revealing the BAU headquarters. Neither exited, both waiting for the other to go first.

"You're gonna talk to Hotch?" Morgan asked, trying to manage a tiny smirk.

"We're _both_ going," Reid said flatly, "just like we agreed to in the car." He took a deep breath, gripped the strap on his messenger bag tightly, and took a large step out of the elevator. "Coming?"

Morgan inhaled, bored his hands into his pockets, and followed.

"Well," Prentiss turned away from the coffee pot when she saw them walk in, "if it isn't the ditching—oh my God, what happened to you guys?" She rose quickly, her mouth falling open. To Morgan and Reid's chagrin, JJ and Garcia saw the fuss she was making over the marks on both of them—evidently, Morgan thought, the research Reid had done on cosmetic foundation and concealer from the dollar store had not been nearly enough.

"We're fine, guys, really," Reid said, trying to evade the small circle the girls were making.

"My Chocolate Adonis, what happened to your face?" Garcia asked, raising a hand to lightly brush Morgan's eye socket.

"Spence, you're all bruised," JJ observed confusedly. "Where'd you go last night?"

Morgan sighed, involuntarily flinching away. "You'll find out soon enough." Grabbing Reid's wrist, he made for the bullpen. "We gotta talk to Hotch."

Rossi gave them a questioning look from his office doorway. Hotch looked up from his desk as Morgan and Reid walked in, replacing the receiver on his phone after staring at them a moment.

One eyebrow slowly lowered as his eyes scanned Morgan's swollen eye socket, Reid's bruised neck, and both of their split lips. "Shut the door," he said in a low, quiet voice.

"There's something we have to tell you," Morgan began, lightly sealing them inside the small office. "Actually, there's a couple of things."

"Sit down," Hotch offered. "You seem tense."

Morgan nodded, drawing himself a chair. Reid lowered into an armchair as well, his messenger bag in his lap.

"There's a series of murders, and nobody's investigating it," Morgan began, his hand shaking along the armrest. "Reid and I were in Chicago a few weeks ago. We spoke to a group of guys I know from back home, and members of their gang are the targets. The police are doing nothing."

"We can't go unless we're invited," Hotch said simply.

"Well, there's more to the story," Morgan said, his stomach doing back flips.

"I gather," Hotch brought a fist under his chin. "First of all—what was Reid doing in Chicago with you?"

Morgan cleared his throat. "Hotch, Reid and I…" his mouth was dry. He cleared it again, biting his lower lip. "Reid and I—"

"Morgan and I are seeing each other," Reid sputtered, staring into his lap and wringing his hands nervously. "Living together, actually."

Morgan stared at Hotch, desperately looking for a reaction from his boss. His lips pressed into a thin line, and Reid didn't look up. A full minute of silence passed before anyone spoke.

"I wondered when you were finally going to tell me."

Reid's head snapped up, his eyes as wide as eggs. Morgan's mouth fell open. Hotch smiled, shaking his head slightly.

"How many years have we all worked together?" he asked rhetorically. "For the past ten months, you've been sitting together on the jet every case we get, and not once does one of you get coffee without offering to the other one.

"For the past seven, you've arrived at exactly the same time every single day, and Reid has been obsessively removing long, white dog hair from his clothes." Morgan and Reid stared at him, looking like two disobedient children caught in the act by their father, only to find out he had known what they were up to the entire time.

"It doesn't take a profiler to put that together," Hotch said, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, "and it's impossible for a profiler _not_ to."

"So," Reid said, his chest visibly heaving through his sweater-vest, "what do we do now?"

Hotch looked into the middle distance. "Well, you both know the rules about inter-bureau relationships. Being on the same team, it's considered a cardinal sin." Reid's gaze sank back to his lap, and Morgan bit his bottom lip harder.

Hotch turned back to them. "Keep it on the down low."

"Really?" Reid asked, picking his head up again. "But what about—"

"Obviously, the team's ability to catch UnSubs has not been compromised in the past eleven months. Neither of your performances have fallen in the past year, and, to my knowledge, your relationship hasn't affected the team at all, let alone in a negative way."

"But what about Strauss?" Morgan finally spoke, his voice dry and scratchy.

"That's what the down low is for," Hotch said seriously, forcing his smile away as the conversation turned serious again. "What does your relationship have to do with the marks on the both of you?"

"The gang in Chicago somehow got ahold of friends in this area, and they've targeted Reid."

"They've targeted both of us," Reid clarified, "but, but more me," he nodded, "mostly me."

"Why would they do that?" Hotch asked seriously. "Is it possible the real target is one of you?"

Morgan shrugged. "The only thing I know is that we have to get access to this case, and find out what's going on."

Hotch nodded. "Let me make some calls. Plan on wheels up in an hour or two."


	11. Chapter 11

"Remember, guys," Hotch directed, "the cops aren't exactly happy about us being here."

"Did they think it was some kind of coincidence that bodies kept turning up the exact same way?" Prentiss asked, jogging to catch up to the boys as they walked through the front doors of the Chicago Police Department.

"I think it's more about having to admit they can't handle their own city," Rossi suggested.

"Or having to admit that I was right," Morgan quipped, thumbing the elevator button. "That never did sit right with Gordinski."

"You all right, Spence?" JJ asked. "You've been awful quiet."

"I'm okay," he replied too quickly, nodding. "Fine." As they moved into the main sector of the department, Reid swallowed, shifting his messenger bag from one shoulder to the other.

"Detective," Hotch greeted Gordinski, putting forth his right hand. "Thank you for having us."

"You can set up over there," Gordinski grunted, gesturing to a corner table. "Do whatever you need to do."

Hotch dragged a whiteboard over against the wall, writing each victim's name across the top with a fat, black marker. "Rossi, you and Prentiss go to the coroner's office. Try to find anything that might be foul play." He turned around. "JJ, get in touch with the local news media. Find out what kind of coverage each of the murders got, especially the earlier ones—how much the public knew, any specifics to do with the body.

"I'll stay here and talk to the officers that responded to each scene. Morgan and Reid, you find Junior and the others in the gang. Get any information you can about what the victims may have had in common."

Morgan nodded. "C'mon, Reid, let's get out of here."

"And Morgan," Hotch called as they turned to leave, "I know it's difficult, but you have to be objective. Reid, you too."

"I know, Hotch," Morgan said. "I'm all set."

In the black SUV on the way to Junior's west side apartment, Morgan's phone buzzed on his belt. "Spence, could you grab that?" Morgan said from the driver's seat.

Opening it, Reid's brow furrowed. "Why does she have your number?"

"Who?"

"Cherise Tyler."

Morgan's stomach dropped a tiny bit. He knew what Reid was thinking. "I—it's not what you think, Spence."

Reid said nothing, shifting his posture and turning his gaze to outside the passenger window. He closed the cell phone and placed it on the center console. "I was asking her about the case, Spence."

"Why would she know—"

"Because she knew all these guys, or at least some of them. She knew Rodney. Since she was still in the area, I thought I could call her up, maybe get some information about what these guys were into."

Reid swallowed, still looking out the window. "You could have told me," he said quietly.

Morgan executed a left turn. "I know. I should have. I didn't want you to be upset that I was talking to her."

"Well, now I'm upset because you lied, so I guess it's an equal balance."

"I didn't lie."

"You didn't tell the truth," Reid said curtly. Morgan paused at a stop sign, making another left. "What did she have to say?"

"Not much," Morgan said, afraid to look at his partner. "She hasn't seen or heard from any of those guys in years. She runs an outreach center on the east side—trying to get people off the streets, help addicts, that kind of thing."

Reid's mouth pressed together tightly. "Did she say why she looked you up?"

Morgan shrugged. "Just, you know, wanted to catch up, I guess." Reid rolled his eyes, pausing to rub at his neck painfully. Morgan gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I hope Loco and Wheels are around."

Reid looked curiously at his partner as the vehicle slowed down, coming to a rest on the street in front of Junior's dilapidated house. He saw the three men emerge from the second apartment. "Why?"

"You'll see," Morgan said, opening the driver-side door.


	12. Chapter 12

Morgan strode quickly to the porch, ignoring the greeting Junior offered. Loco realized Morgan's intentions, but by the time he tried to change directions, Morgan was already up the wooden porch steps. He failed to make it back to the door before Morgan grabbed him by the shoulders from behind, slammed his face into the front screen and wrenched his body around to face the other way.

"You made a real big mistake, pal," Morgan growled, wrenching Loco's right arm behind his back and sweeping a leg from underneath him to bring him down the front steps. Letting his body weight fall, Morgan pushed Loco onto the sidewalk, the lower man's hitting the pavement with a dry smack.

"Derek," Reid said nervously, "let him go."

"What's your problem, man?" Loco grunted. "Lemme go!" Morgan put his right knee between Loco's shoulder blades, pulling his left arm out into a straight lock and pulling upward. "Fuck, man, that hurts!"

"Derek!"

"Bet you wish you never set those scumbags on us now, huh?" Morgan said lowly into Loco's ear.

"What the fuck you talkin' about, man?" Loco cried. "I never called nobody in D.C.!"

"He's right, Derek," Junior said from the porch. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Morgan looked from Junior to Wheels, then down at Loco and to Reid. "You never sicked two huge guys on us?"

"No, man!" Loco yelled, near tears. "Let me the fuck up!"

Morgan stood up, yanking Loco to his feet by his locked-out arm. His nose and mouth were a bloody mess. "What the fuck's your problem, asshole?"

"Guess that'll teach you not to threaten people," Morgan said, walking toward the front porch. "We came here to see what you guys knew about the victims—something they might have had in common."

"Or to see if there's anything you might potentially know about the UnSub," Reid said, finally moving away from the SUV to stand next to Morgan.

"The what?" Wheels asked. He looked as though he was about to insult Reid, but thought better of it after one glance from Morgan.

"UnSub, it stands for Unknown Subject—the killer," Reid said.

"Look, all I know is that all the guys were found in the east end," Loco said, still shaken up and rotating his arm. "That was the first weird thing, none of them lived there."

"And they looked like they were sleeping," Wheels added. "Just laying there, asleep."

"And it's gotten worse since you've been here," Junior said, pointing at Reid. "Eyeball came a month after Ricky. Then Daddy-O was a month after that. Rodney was a month after him." He leaned against the banister, the chipping paint fluttering to the ground around him. "You showed up about a week after that. After you left, we found AJ a few days later."

"And Mikey was a week, maybe a little more, after that," Wheels said.

Morgan looked at Reid. "So there's a bigger stressor than what started him killing in the first place."

"Is there anything the victims had in common with one another?" Reid asked. "A place they all went…someone they all knew?"

"Most of us guys know each other," Junior said. "Eyeball and AJ were on parole…"

"And Daddy-O was on probation," Loco added.

"So we might be looking for someone in the legal system," Reid stipulated.

"Like a vigilante," Morgan suggested, pulling out his phone. "I'll have to call Garcia—see if any of their legal histories crossed paths."

Reid nodded. "We should get back, see what the others have come up with."

Morgan turned back to Junior. "Thanks a lot, man. I'll let you know if we find anything else." The pair walked back to the SUV.

"See you later, French-fry," Loco called, lowering a balled-up tee shirt from his bloody face to speak.

Reid turned around. "You know, Morgan just cleaned your clock. If you've got any common sense, you ought to shut up."

"'Scuse me?" Wheels said, coming to Loco's aid and eclipsing the porch steps. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Far from it," Reid said, opening the passenger-side door, "But I'd deduce that you are, if you take another step forward."

Morgan smiled, buckling himself into the driver seat. "Nice one, Pretty Boy."


	13. Chapter 13

Prentiss was writing on the evidence board when Morgan and Reid got back. "What'd you guys find out?"

"Hang on," Morgan said, bringing the phone away from his ear and pushing the Speakerphone button. "Go ahead, Baby Girl."

"Okay," the bubbly blonde's voice chirped from Morgan's cell. "Not surprisingly, all of our victims had minor criminal records. All six had drug habits—ranging from crack-cocaine to heroine and meth," Garcia typed something, "which happened to be Douglas Larson—a.k.a. Eyeball's combo of choice."

"Is that what he was on parole for?" Morgan asked.

"You got it, Chocolate Thunder."

"Is it possible to find out how they administered the drugs?" Prentiss asked, walking away from the board to be better heard. "Each of the victims had tiny punctures on the insides of their elbows…like they had used needles."

Garcia made an audible _I'm thinking_ noise. "I could do some digging and find out…but it's unlikely that, with the range of drugs, they would all be used the same way."

"There's got to be a connection with them somehow," Rossi said. "The last two victims tested positive for Rohypnol."

"The date-rape drug?" Garcia clarified.

Rossi nodded, even though Garcia couldn't possibly see it. "I'd bet anything the others would have tested positive for it, too, if the bodies had been properly examined."

"If someone slipped these guys a rufie, it was someone they trusted, or at least knew enough to accept a drink from," Morgan thought aloud. "The connection has to be there somewhere."

"I'll try, my sweeties," Garcia said with a tone of sadness, "but the information on these guys is spotty at best. They're not on the grid other than legal records and crime reports. Social connections might be impossible to find."

"That's why you're the best, Baby Girl."

"Aww," Garcia said, "you're only saying that because it's true. Over and out."

"So the UnSub has some sort of access to drugs," Hotch reeled the team back over to the table. "And judging from the positioning of the bodies," he gestured to the crime scene photos someone had taped to the evidence board, "he feels remorse."

"Almost like he didn't want to kill them," Rossi mused. "What are those marks on the ground?"

"Tire tracks," Hotch answered. "From some kind of SUV or truck. They were at every crime scene."

"So the UnSub is too weak to drag the bodies very far," Morgan stipulated. "May be a small guy."

"Or he's too guilty about what he did and doesn't want to touch them longer than he has to," Prentiss countered.

"What do you think, Reid?" Morgan turned back to where Reid stood, staring slightly openmouthed at the evidence board, lost in thought.

"I wonder…" he trailed off, digging his cell phone out of his corduroy pocket and pressing a speed dial. "Garcia? Can I get a background check for Cherise Tyler?"

"Reid, what are you doing?" Morgan asked.

"Who's he talking about?" Hotch asked.

"An old girlfriend of mine," Morgan hastily explained, "she runs an outreach center in the area."

"Why does that matter?" Rossi pressed.

"Think about it," Reid said, turning the mouthpiece away from his lips. "There was some kind of second stressor after Morgan visited Chicago. The UnSub might be small—like a woman. He also would have access to drugs and syringes—like an outreach center in the ghetto."

"Reid, you're twisting what little information we have," Morgan said curtly. "And you're wasting time."

"Here," Reid said, pushing the Speakerphone. "All right, Garcia, go ahead."

"I'm sorry, Boy Wonder, but Miss Tyler is clean as a whistle—graduated from Brown University, drives a Honda Civic, no criminal record, and runs the Second Chance Center on Chicago's east side."

"See?" Morgan said. "A Honda Civic. And even if the UnSub dumped the bodies from a truck, they would still have to drag the victims between drugging them and killing them."

"She also has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do," Garcia added.

"That could account for additional leg strength," Reid corroborated.

"Reid, drop it," Morgan said, finality seething in his voice.

"Sorry again, Junior G-Man," Garcia said sadly before hanging up. Defeated, Reid clapped the cell phone shut and replaced it in his pocket, stepping closer to Morgan and speaking quieter.

"Derek, think about it. What if one of us really _is_ the target—like Hotch said?"

Morgan set his jaw. "It's funny you remember that," he spat, "but forgot what Hotch said about being objective."

"I am being objective," Reid protested. "You don't think it's a little odd that she all of a sudden contacts you after all these years?"

Morgan took a step back, visibly attempting to control his temper. "It's amazing that with your mind," he shook his head stiffly, "you can't see past your own jealousy enough to realize you're way, way off base."

Reid's jaw fell as Morgan grabbed his leather jacket and muttered to Hotch that he'd see them in the morning. The threat of tears stung at Reid's eyes, but the embarrassment of crying in front of the team held them back.

Rossi, Hotch, Prentiss and JJ stood awkwardly around the table. One by one, each team member left Reid to sift through the case files, not one saying a word. Hotch was the last to leave, rubbing at his temple and wondering if, maybe, it hadn't been such a good idea after all.


	14. Chapter 14

"Oh. Hey," Reid looked up, startled by her presence and sucking in a breath. "I—I didn't know anyone else was still here."

"I'm the only one," Prentiss said, pulling up a chair beside her coworker and placing a medium coffee in front of him. "It's double sugar."

She waited until he took the cup and began to sip before she spoke again. "Have you had any breakthroughs in the last couple of hours?"

"It doesn't make sense," he mused, setting the Styrofoam cup back down on the table. "The victimology doesn't fit any possible serial motive…but if it was personal, why would there be such remorse?"

"What made you think it was Morgan's old girlfriend?"

He shot her a _Don't go there_ look, but the corners of his mouth flinched as he basked in thought. "The circumstances all point to her, and I just—she gives me a bad feeling."

"Are you sure that's not just because—"

"I'm positive," he cut her off. "It's the timing, the situation—it's all off."

She paused, trying to find a way to word it without offending him. "Morgan doesn't seem to think so." He swallowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Do any of the gang members you and Morgan talked to know her?"

His face relaxed, and he turned to look at her. "We didn't even ask." He checked his watch. "We—we could go now. I know where Junior lives."

"Reid, are you sure?" Prentiss glanced at the evidence board. "It started to rain a little while ago, the weather report said the storm might get really bad. Maybe we should wait—find Hotch, or talk to Morgan."

"No," Reid said flatly. "Morgan's already upset that I brought it up. The least I can do is keep him out of it until I know for sure."

He stood, grabbing his suit jacket and an umbrella. "Are you coming?"

Prentiss looked behind her, out the window and at the sheets of rain. "Who else is going to carry your coffee?"

The black Suburban raced through the city streets, the traffic light due to the hazardous weather. Exchanging their coats for the trademark FBI windbreakers, Prentiss and Reid ran up the nearly hazardous steps to Junior's apartment. Reid tore open the screen door, still tinted pink with Loco's blood, and banged on the inner wood with his entire forearm.

"Who's there?" a low voice called.

"It—it's Spencer Reid!"

"Who?" another voice pressed.

"FBI!" Prentiss shouted. "Open the door!"

Reluctantly, the wood parted an inch or two, enough for Loco's eyeball to become visible. "French fry?" The door opened a bit wider. "Where's Derek?"

"I need to ask you something."

He glanced at the street behind them, the torrential rain running through the street gutter like a miniature Amazon. "Now?"

"Did any of the victims know Cherise Tyler?"

He squinted. "'Reese? Yeah, everyone knows her. Why?"

Reid's eyes widened. Prentiss looked at him openmouthed, but said nothing. "Do you know where we can find her?"

"Right now?" he asked skeptically. "What the hell's going on?"

"We—we have to find her, and talk to her, right now."

"She runs an outreach center on the east side," Loco mused, his voice serious. "I know where it is."

"We can call Garcia and get directions," Prentiss offered.

Reid shook his head, stepping back and holding the screen door open. "We don't know the city. It'll take too long."

Loco stepped out the door. "Hey, baby. Wassup?"

Prentiss scoffed. "Don't even."

"Loco, this is Agent Prentiss," Reid said, gesturing to his coworker as he hastily returned to the SUV.

"Ooh," Loco flashed a toothy grin as she held the front passenger door open. "_Agent_."

"An FBI agent already kicked your ass once," Reid admonished, "don't make the second one a woman on top of it."

"Whatever," the thin man spat, closing the door behind him. "Go up to the light and make a left." Reid nodded, then stepped on it. "Whatchu say your name was again, French fry?"

"Spencer Reid."

"_Doctor_ Spencer Reid," Prentiss corrected.

Loco raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Aight, Doc, take this street 'till it runs out."


	15. Chapter 15

"What do you need to talk to 'Reese about, anyway?" Loco asked, pointing at a street sign to signal that the next light was Reid's left turn.

"The case," he said tersely, tightening his grip on the wheel. "We think she might have…known the victims."

"She knows everyone in the hood," Loco informed him. "Probly was one of the first to know when they died."

Reid gave a small nod. "Thank you…for taking us here. You didn't have to."

Loco shrugged. "Ain't no thing." He paused, thinking and nodding. "You know, Doc, for a white guy, you aight."

Reid exhaled a controlled breath, a small smile gracing his face. "You, too."

"Is this it up here?" Prentiss asked, pointing. Loco nodded, and Reid pulled the SUV over.

The Second Chance Center looked dismal in the torrential rain—a stately brick two-story, the windows dirty and the sign faded. People were still hanging around in the awning-covered entryway—chit-chatting, engaging in drug deals, and soliciting sex. Reid cut the engine. "Let's go."

"She's probly inside, Doc," Loco said, moving quickly to minimize getting wet. "C'mon." Reid and Prentiss followed him into the main foyer of the building, and to the right where a small soup kitchen was serving coffee and cocoa. A modestly-dressed woman was manning the counter.

"'Reese!" Loco called, commanding her attention. She smiled, moving from behind the counter to greet him.

"Hey, Loco! Who're your friends?" she smiled.

"I'm Agent Prentiss, and this is Doctor Reid," Prentiss stuck out a hand.

"I'm gonna take a look around," Reid said, moving back toward the small group of loiterers near the door. Cherise nodded, showing the other two the counter and offering them a seat.

Surveying the scene, Reid overheard several possible drug transactions. When he asked a stranger if Cherise ever provided them with clean needles, he managed to receive a positive answer—among other things.

The back alleyway outside led to a poor excuse for a parking lot, riddled with potholes and cracks. In the rear corner sat an older model Chevrolet van, looking as though it hadn't been used in years. Knowing he had enough, he went to find Prentiss and Loco.

He came upon them sipping coffee with Cherise, and his heart skipped a beat. "How much of that have you drank?" he loudly whispered.

"Half a cup, why?" Prentiss asked, meeting his shocked expression with confusion. When his jaw dropped, she understood. "Oh, oh no."

"What's wrong, French fry?" Loco asked, his speech already slowing and slurred. Reid swore, pulling out his cell phone and pushing Speed Dial 1—Morgan. Something must have been messing with the cell towers; it wouldn't go through.

"Something wrong, Doctor Reid?" Cherise asked, seeing Prentiss' wide eyes and Reid's panicked face.

"No, no, everything's fine," he lied, trying to silently communicate with Prentiss that they needed to leave. "We should probably just be heading out."

She followed him from behind the counter as he struggled to help Prentiss to her feet and move back toward the entrance, resigning that he would come back for Loco. "Is she going to be all right, Spencer?" Cherise asked.

He turned slowly, his movements awkward due to practically carrying Prentiss. "How did you know my name was Spencer?"

For an instant, her face panicked. Then, almost too fast to see, she raised her foot and easily kicked Reid in the temple.

All he saw was the thick blackness of Prentiss' hair as he fell to the floor.


	16. Chapter 16

"I don't know, Mama," Morgan said, bringing the pot of coffee out to refresh their mugs. "I got a bad feeling about this case, but I have an even worse one about the way Spencer's been acting."

Her eyes were sad. "He thinks you're in danger. And that scares him; scares me, too." She took a small sip. "He's trying to protect you."

Morgan looked at her incredulously. "_Him_ protect _me_?"

Fran looked at her son hard. "Derek. You might be strong, but you're not invincible."

"He's the one who pushed so hard to come back here," Morgan said, taking a gulp of the black beverage. "And I'm the one who saved him, basically, in the alley before we came back." He gestured to his mouth; while the swollen eye was almost invisible now, the crack in his upper lip would probably remain for a while. "The night I got this."

She swallowed hard. "Baby…did you ever find out who did it?"

Morgan squinted. "I don't know…Loco and Junior denied it…but who else would have bothered?"

Fran looked into the middle distance, pursing her lips. "He really cares about you, baby."

"I care about him, too," Morgan exhaled frustratedly. "A lot." He took another sip. "A whole lot…but he's so headstrong, and acting all jealous…"

"Of who?" she pondered.

"Cherise. He was there when I got your message, and he's been on her back ever since."

Her eyes widened slightly. "She sent a card to the house—I forgot to tell you."

"What?" he asked, watching her rise from the armchair to the pile of mail on the endtable by the door.

"A card—it got here about a week after you left last time." She handed the pastel yellow envelope to him. "I didn't read it."

"Thank you, Mama," he said, hastily tearing it open. A simple greeting card, showing a couple walking hand-in-hand on a sunset-basked beach, shook slightly in his hands.

_Derek,_

_I can't wait for you to return home, to see you again. By the time you read this, only one thing will still stand in my way. And once it's gone, you will see all that we can be, and you and I will be together forever._

_All my love, _

_Cherise _

Morgan's face grew slack. His heart thudded slower and harder in his chest, with a sinking feeling in the lower half of his stomach to accompany it. "Oh, my God."

"What is it, baby?"

Morgan looked at her, his mouth slightly open. "He was right. Spencer was right about everything." He stood, grabbing his coat. "I gotta go, Mama—I'm sorry."

"Derek, please be careful," she said seriously. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mama," he kissed her forehead.

"Do you love Spencer?" she rose from the armchair to see him to the door.

"What?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I don't know!"

She flashed a knowing smile. "If you do, you ought to tell him." Morgan smiled, kissed her again, and left, pulling on his jacket as he stepped out into the flash-flood of rain.

Junior's wasn't too far from where he was, so he tried there first. "Open up, man—it's Derek."

The door opened after a few moments. "What the hell's going on, man?"

"Did Spencer come back here?" Morgan asked, panting slightly.

"Who?" he squinted.

Morgan pressed his lips together. "The French fry."

Junior nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah—he was here 'bout a half-hour ago. With a white girl. Loco took him to 'Reese's."

"Cherise Tyler's?"

"Yeah, I think that's her name."

Morgan brought a hand to his forehead. "Thanks, man." He turned and bolted back to the SUV. Time was running out. Junior called out something, but it was raining too hard for Morgan to hear him.


	17. Chapter 17

Morgan made it to the Second Chance Center in record time. The storm had grown windier and the thunder louder, chasing away most of the loiterers to their own quarters or to the back room where a few dozen cots were set up. The soup kitchen was empty; the entire place was dark. A few half-empty coffee mugs sat unattended on the counter. The floor was wet, as though people had come in from the rain in large numbers.

Or made several trips to a van and back. Morgan walked quickly around back. The parking lot was empty, save for the black Chevy Suburban—the car Reid, Loco and Prentiss had taken.

The engine was still warm to the touch—he wasn't far behind. Taking out his cell, he dialed Garcia's number. After four or five tries got lost in the downpour, he was able to get through.

"Garcia!"

"Morgan? I can barely hear you!"

"Look, I might lose this call," he spoke quickly. "Where does Cherise Tyler live?"

"But I thought—"

"Just do it, Baby Girl!"

He heard typing, but just barely. "817 South Clinton Avenue."

"Okay, Sweetie," he climbed back into the car, roaring the engine and taking off toward Clinton.

"I did some more digging on this girl, Morgan," she said, beginning to cut out. "Her dad died—months ago."

"Sounds like a stressor to me. What'd he drive?"

She typed something. "A—van."

"Baby Girl, you're cutting out," he turned a corner. "Listen, call Hotch. Tell him the address and tell him Reid and Prentiss are there."

He could feel her shocked silence. "Then why didn't you get—address from him?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "I think they're in trouble."

"Morgan—wait—Hotch."

"I can't hear you. Just tell him," Morgan said, clapping the cell shut and tossing it on the seat beside him, turning another left to make it toward Clinton Ave.


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing Reid felt was the throbbing in his temple, persistent and excruciating. He could feel the blood matted in his hair, and crusty on his face. The second thing was the way his damp clothes stuck to his skin, and the heaviness that his hair always had when it was wet.

His wrists and ankles were bound with something; it felt like duct tape, but not very tightly. He was facing a concrete staircase, leading up to a storm cellar door, and the air had a musty quality to it. His gun was missing, along with Cherise Tyler. Thunder rumbled quietly above them. He rolled over.

Loco and Prentiss both lay on the opposite side of the room—discarded like broken toys. Both were soaked. Neither was moving.

"Em—Emily?" He asked quietly, pausing to clear his throat. "Loco?"

He shuffled awkwardly toward them, rubbing his bony wrists together to break free of the adhesive bonds. The sound of his wet clothing on the concrete floor made a scratchy sound, causing him to stop frequently to make sure nobody else was around who might hear.

He managed to create a small tear in the tape with his thumb and forefinger, using leverage to rip it in half from there. Bringing his hands around him, Reid tore the second binding from around his pant legs, and crawled the rest of the way across the floor to Prentiss.

She had a pulse, and her chest was rising and falling—barely. "Emily, please wake up." Reid swallowed hard. "Please." The situation he had put her in made him sick to his stomach...but at least she was alive. Without measuring how much Rohypnol was in the coffee, there was no way to tell how long she would be comatose.

He pulled himself around to Loco, his head screaming with pain and blood rushing into his vision.

Loco had no vital signs.

"No," Reid murmured, rolling the man onto his back and positioning him for CPR. "Please. No."

He rotated Loco's left arm. In the crook of his elbow, Reid could see a pinprick the size of a needle's eye. His face fell, but he still straddled the other man, raindrops flying off his hair as he did so. "No."

He pushed hard on Loco's heart, checking every five pumps for a pulse. "Loco, please. Please." He kept pressing, breathing harder and harder as the reality of the situation set in. "Goddammit, no."

He leapt into the air with a startled cry when he heard her voice, quiet and calm. "It's too late, Spencer."

His back slamming into a table that stood along the far wall, Reid vaulted away and around to protect himself. Cherise Tyler stood at the bottom of a wooden staircase, looking as calm and collected as when they had arrived at the shelter. "Wh—what did you do to him?"

She gave a coy smile. "You're a smart boy—I'm sure you figured it out."

He shuffled backward as she approached, his ass making a wet scraping sound on the rough concrete floor. "But you—you didn't—"

"Not her, no." Cherise knelt down between Prentiss and Loco. "Not yet." She reached for Prentiss' unconscious form.

"Don't touch her!" Reid said, beginning to lunge forward, but stopping when she slowly pulled his pistol out of the back of her pants, its chrome glistening in the dank basement.

"You should probably sit down, Doctor."

He sat back, moving as far away as he could. "You—you don't have to hurt her."

"I didn't want to, you know," she said, eyeing him with a look of pity. "It was just the means to an end."

"Cherise, I—"

"Don't say my name!" she cried, suddenly angry. "_You_ weren't even supposed to _be_ there!" She crawled across the basement floor toward him, and eventually, Reid was trapped in the corner, Cherise Tyler mere inches away.

"_You_ weren't supposed to be in Chicago with him," she whispered, spit flying from her lips. "He always comes_ alone_."

Reid swallowed hard, his temple aching with each throbbing heartbeat. A drop of rain fell off his bangs.

"And _you_ were supposed to _die_ in the alleyway!" she hissed, pressing the barrel of his own gun against his chest and causing him to flinch. "_You_ were supposed to _fucking_ _die_."

Reid swallowed again. "B—but you can't be with Derek if you're in prison."

"Who says I'm getting caught?" she asked, calm and coy again.

He shifted his weight, the gun jerking against his chestplate. "It won't look accidental when two federal agents appear to have just happened to overdose on cocaine."

She squinted, relaxing her posture. "Didn't you hear?" She looked back at Loco's lifeless body. "Just before the overdose stopped his heart, he offed two cops who _happened_ to be dumb enough to let him into their car."

"H—he was a good man," Reid protested.

"He was a gangbanger," Cherise continued flatly. "The woman," she gestured to Prentiss, "died almost instantly. But you," she cocked his pistol, "you took almost an hour to bleed to death—it was probably agonizing."

A smile slowly crept across her face. Reid bit his bottom lip, willing himself not to beg for his own life.

Then he heard himself say, "Let Derek watch." She froze, squinting slightly. "It—it would show him that you're willing to do anything," Reid hastily continued, "and—and that nobody will ever," he swallowed, realizing the gravity of the word, "love him as much as you do."

She stared blankly at him, giving no sign of whether or not she had bought it. Then, by the grace of God, he heard a knock at the door, preceding Morgan's voice, calling her name.

"Wait here," she grinned.


	19. Chapter 19

Morgan let himself in when he tried the door and saw it was unlocked. The kitchen was spotless and dark, rain coming down in sheets through the window above the sink. After calling her name a second time, Cherise appeared out of a basement door.

"Derek," she smiled, running to him. "I thought you'd never come."

"Cherise," he began, speaking calmly and seriously, "where are Prentiss, Loco and Reid?"

Her lips pursed in a pout. "That's not fair." Crossing her arms, she took a few steps back.

"Cherise," Morgan slowly approached her, "how long has it been since you stopped the pills?"

"I don't need them," she said indignantly. "I'm doing just fine without them." When Morgan took a more aggressive step, she pulled out Reid's pistol. He recognized it immediately, and froze.

"Derek, I did everything for you. I got rid of everything bad around here, and brought you home."

"Cherise, you killed people."

"To get you back here!" she cried, crossing her arms again. "But then you came back, and you were here…with _him_."

Morgan didn't respond, trying to think of something, anything.

"And he was _supposed_ to die in the alleyway," she said, tears springing to her eyes.

"Wait," Morgan's jaw fell. A crack of thunder rippled outside. "That was—_you _had the—?"

"You were _supposed _to come back alone…but you didn't."

"Cherise, where is he?"

"Nobody will ever love you like I will, Derek," she said endearingly, moving slowly toward him. "It will be different this time."

Morgan shook his head. "No, no, you need to tell me—"

She stroked his scalp. "It'll be different this time. I promise, Derek." Morgan closed his eyes, shifting uncomfortably away from her. "This time, we wont lose the baby." His heart was pounding so hard he was a little surprised she couldn't hear it.

"We can start a family, Derek," she said, moving closer and closer to him. "You and me."

He swallowed hard, his heart racing faster than a bullet and stronger than a hundred horses. She laced her free hand through his, despite the fact that it was shaking.

"O—okay," he said slowly, nodding. "You and me."

Her face lit up, and she pressed her lips to his without a moment's hesitation.

Morgan awkwardly embraced her, inwardly repulsed but knowing he had to kiss her back with a certain passion, or the ruse would fail. Rain pattered harshly on the windowpane. He flexed his jaw, grabbing a mess of her hair with his free hand. She dropped her grip on his to wrap an arm around his waist, inhaling sharply as he kissed her hungrily.

"Oh, Derek," she pulled away, "let's get married. Let's start a family." She kissed him chastely. "I'll be careful this time, and we'll have our baby."

He smiled. "I can't wait. But I need to end the part of my life that I had before now, before tonight."

"We need to kill Spencer," she said simply, nodding. "I kept him for you, and I want you to watch me kill him."

A crack of thunder tore through the neighborhood, the sky lightening for an instant. He stared back at her silently. In his mind, he balked at her.

"I want to be the one that takes care of everything in our way."

Morgan nodded, smiling warmly. "Yes. Please. Take me to him."


	20. Chapter 20

Cherise was too close to easily miss Morgan with the gun, and too far away for him to have an effective method of taking the weapon. Tacking on the fact that she, too, was a black belt, and that there were a possible total of three people left in the house should he miss, there was no taking that gun.

All three of them were in the basement.

Reid looked like absolute hell. His clothes were damp and filthy, clinging to his skin like the matted fur of a wet dog. His face was covered in blood on one side, his wet hair slapped dirtily across his forehead.

He was leaning over Loco, gripping the prone man's shoulders as though he could shake him awake. He'd been crying. But because he wasn't leaning over Prentiss, Morgan had to surmise that was because she was alive.

And that Loco wasn't. Morgan fought the urge to rush to his side, his heart crashing through the pit of his stomach. A rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning exploded outside.

Reid looked anxiously from Morgan to Cherise, and back to Morgan. Slowly and shakily, Reid rose to his feet, meekly bringing his hands together in front of himself. Morgan could see his heaving chest, fear brewing deep within him. He swallowed, his glassy eyes darting back and forth between them.

"He came for me," Cherise said, snaking an arm around Morgan's waist. "I told you."

Reid nodded sadly, the corners of his perfect mouth creasing. "Yes, you did."

"Tell him, Derek," she prompted, nudging him with the butt of Reid's gun.

Morgan cleared his throat, looking at Reid's hands—he couldn't look down at Loco and Prentiss, but he couldn't bear to look Reid in the eye, either. "We're here to…to end everything that…that—"

"He's here to erase everything other than me," she smiled coldly, releasing him to step closer to Reid, raising and aiming his own pistol at him. "Like you."

Reid wrung his hands nervously. His breathing became more rapid, his chest heaving harder, as she approached. "Goodbye, Spencer."

"Wait," Morgan said, putting up a hand and moving toward her. "I should do it."

"You?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I did all of this for you, I'm almost finished!"

"But it's—he's my life, I should be the one to end it," Morgan tried to reason, reaching for his gun.

"No!" she cried, frantically moving to point Reid's pistol at Morgan. "I know what you're trying to do."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "You're going to take your _Spencer_," she said his name as though it was a particularly disgusting insect, "and run away from me again."

She stole a look at Reid, who was still standing slightly hunched over, damp and filthy. "You're going to take my Derek from me."

Morgan raised his hands in a submissive gesture. "Cherise, that wasn't—"

"Shut up! Shut up!" She yelled, her head jerking back and forth. "No! I did _everything_!" The gun wavered in front of Morgan's chest. "I waited and waited, and made _sure_ Junior talked to you," she stepped farther away from Morgan, "but then _he _had to go and ruin _everything_!"

"Cherise, put down the gun," Morgan said calmly. "We can talk about this."

"If I can't have you," she slowly cocked the gun, "nobody can."

She pulled the trigger, Reid's pistol exploding with a flash in the dank basement. Morgan's eyes automatically shut for a split second, but he felt nothing.

Because just as Cherise pulled the trigger, Reid had lunged at her, taking the woman to the floor in a tackle that would have bested Morgan on a good day, amid gunpowder and smoke. She didn't even have a chance to cry out—she had been too focused on Morgan to see Reid, who now lay on top of her with his index and middle fingers pressing down on her Carotid arteries, panting.

"Oh, my God, Reid…" Morgan shook his head, quickly realizing the situation and grabbing his handcuffs, kicking Reid's pistol across the floor. "Oh, my God, Spencer." He cuffed Cherise, knowing she would be fully conscious minutes after Reid released her throat. Pulling him up off the floor, he hugged Reid tightly. "I was so fucking stupid, Spence."

"We need...to call an ambulance," he said, his voice muffled by the crook of Morgan's collarbone. Amid a rumble of thunder, they heard Hotch and the SWAT team enter the home, shouting orders and calling their names.

"Down here!" Morgan called, not letting go of Reid. "God damn, Pretty Boy, why would you go looking for her? Lunge at an armed suspect?"

"What?" he asked breathlessly, looking Morgan in the eye when the older agent finally relaxed his grip. "I fiercely protect…the things that are mine."

Morgan gripped both of Reid's cheeks and chastely kissed him—hard—on the mouth. "Spencer, I lo—"

"Call an ambulance," Hotch barked, almost running down the stairs. "What the hell happened down here?"


	21. Chapter 21

"Reid," Hotch began tersely, approaching the pair of chairs in the hospital lobby, "Morgan, can I talk to the two of you?"

Knowing it was more of a statement than a question, neither Morgan nor Reid responded, both awkwardly averting their gazes to the ground, or Hotch's shoes. Reid fiddled with the cuff of the clean, dry FBI jacket Morgan had fetched him from the back of one of the squad cars.

"Hotch, I know what you're going to say," Morgan said quietly, looking into the middle distance between Reid and Hotch. "It turns out…it turns out she was after me this whole time." He forced himself to meet Hotch's cold stare. "I put everyone in danger."

"You're damn right, you did," Hotch finished curtly, "you both did." Reid's head slowly raised to look guiltily up at his Unit Chief. "Going anywhere unaccompanied is a gross negligence. It's incredibly reckless. You're lucky to be alive.

"And Reid, if you've got a hunch about an UnSub, there are no circumstances that permit what you did tonight."

"I know, Hotch," Reid muttered, his eyes lowering. "I just thought—"

"You deliberately put yourself and another agent in imminent danger," Hotch continued, "and another man is dead." Reid's face strained, as though hearing about Loco was causing him physical pain. Given the serious blow his temple had sustained in the last six hours, that was entirely possible.

"Thankfully, the doctors say Prentiss will be fine by morning," Hotch softened a tiny bit, seeing Reid's reaction to Loco, "and we'll be back in Quantico by the afternoon."

A moment of awkward silence hung in the air between the three men. Although Morgan and Reid both knew, in a sense, what was coming next, Hotch's statement was startling.

"And you can each take a few weeks off to think about this."

Morgan's jaw fell. "Hotch, I know what we did was reckless but we still got the UnSub." He raised his hands. "With the lack of help from the local cops, it's a wonder we didn't have five more victims."

"A—and with the nature of the UnSub," Reid piped up, "the context of our relationship has little to nothing to do with the case, other than Morgan's involvement, which would have happened anyway, and—"

"This is not a discussion." Hotch's nostrils flared. "You know the rules—both of you, and you know the position I'm in—and the one I'd be in if Strauss found out about all this," he flailed his hands on the word _this_ to signify the two of them. "Take some time. Figure things out."

He shoved a hand into his left-side pocket, turning to leave them alone. When Morgan let his hands fall with a slap onto his jean pant legs, Hotch scoffed. "Don't act like you guys don't need the time to process everything that's happened in the last few hours." His eyes glanced down at Reid. "Work it out."

Morgan sank into the straight-backed chair as Hotch rounded the corner with Rossi in search of a vending machine. Since JJ was sitting up with Prentiss, this left Morgan and Reid alone in the waiting room, the simple wall clock silently marking the arrival of 2 a.m.

Neither spoke for a few long moments. Morgan tried to watch Reid out of the corner of his eye, but the younger profiler turned to steal occasional glances at him, and Morgan had to snap his head in the other direction, Reid following suit when his eye wandered back.

"What did Cherise mean," Reid croaked, his voice laced with pain, "about the baby?"

Morgan let out a woosh of air, leaning forward and letting his chin sink into his palms.

"There is no baby," Morgan said flatly. "There never was a baby." Reid's eyebrows rose, but he still didn't turn to face Morgan. "Once, right before we graduated high school, she was late. She got a test, but it was negative.

"She became obsessed with the idea of being pregnant, and that's…kind of when the delusions started."

Reid sat up straighter, finally turning his head. "What kind of delusions?"

Morgan shook his head. "At first, it was just the baby. Then, it was everything—her parents, college, me—she had a bad dream once, and fell out of bed," he made eye contact with Reid, "told everyone that I'd hit her.

"Desiree found out about everything, and refused to let her talk to me. Talked to her dad, and got her put on pills. They kept her in line, pretty much. After I left for college, everything sort of…fell apart." His gaze diverted again, setting back on the simple clock. "Honestly, I thought she'd forgotten all about me."

Reid let out a dry chuckle. "Nobody could ever forget you, Derek."

Morgan's face relaxed into a sad smile. "I really fucked up, Spence," he finally breathed, his head falling into his hands. "I'm really sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Reid countered dully, looking straight ahead. "If I hadn't acted so possessive, it wouldn't—"

"No, Pretty Boy," Morgan put a hand on Reid's knee, drawing his gaze. "I should have listened to you from the beginning."

Reid glanced away, biting his lower lip in thought. "I should have told you that I was going there." He paused, drawing and releasing a controlled breath. "I did call you, but it never got through, so I just…"

"Asked Loco for directions," Morgan finished quietly.

"Yeah," Reid nodded, the corners of his mouth creasing. "I guess there is a lot we have to work out."

"We don't have to do it right now, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, doing the old pretending-to-stretch-to-casually-put-his-arm-around-Reid move. Reid habitually relaxed his head against Morgan's collarbone, leaning into the embrace.

"I guess you're right," Reid said, resigning himself to his exhaustion. "You wanna know something?"

"Hmm."

"He told me I was all right."

Morgan smiled dryly, lightly kissing Reid's hair. "You are, Pretty Boy. You are."


	22. Chapter 22 :SMUT:

Morgan scratched Clooney casually behind the ear, trying to relax after his grueling four-hour workout. The dog easily flopped onto the engulfing couch beside him, asleep within moments. But each time Morgan tried to force blackness into his thoughts to prompt a nap, Reid's incessant mechanical-pencil scratching tore through the silence like a knife through butter.

"Spencer," he grumbled, lolling his head from one side to the other. "It's been two days."

"I know," Reid chirped, leaning over a large pile of case file copies he had conned Garcia into smuggling upon their return to Quantico. "But it never hurts to have a compelling argument."

"There is no argument," Morgan countered, sitting up straighter and leaning over the back of the couch to see Reid at the dining room table, still in his flannel PJ pants and one of Morgan's tee-shirts. "We got two weeks of leave. I don't think there's going to be further repercussions."

Reid made a mark with the pencil. "Just in case," he looked up, adopting a shocked and pleasured expression when he saw that Morgan had flopped onto the couch clad only in boxer shorts. "The research I've done proves that the BAU hasn't been adversely affected in any way by our relationship. Quite the opposite, we've actually had a—"

"Spence," Morgan's arms dangled over the back of the couch, a sultry half-smile playing across his face. "Anyone up there knows that separating the two of us would be downright suicidal."

"I—I know," Reid said, rising from the chair with his coffee mug. "I just want to make sure that nothing—"

"Did I ever tell you how cute you look in my shirt?"

Reid's eyebrows rose, and he looked down at himself, as if to say _Who, me?_ He gave a toothless smile, and quipped back, "Did I ever tell you how cute you look with no shirt?"

Morgan grinned, turning to face the correct way on the couch as his partner rounded it and sat down beside him. "Coffee?" Reid asked.

"I'll just have some of yours," Morgan answered suavely, his hand bracing Reid's long fingers and raising the mug to his lips, sputtering after the over-sugared liquid graced his tongue. "Jeez, Kid, that shit's lethal!"

"Like you didn't already know!" Reid laughed as Morgan leapt up to prepare his own brew to wash the taste down. "You make it for me half the time."

"I was trying to be sexy," Morgan muttered from the kitchen, reappearing with his own cup.

"You are sexy, Derek," Reid assured him.

"How sexy, Pretty Boy?" Morgan set his mug on the coffee table, leaning over Reid with one hand on either side of the younger agent's lap.

Reid cleared his throat. "I don't know that sexiness can be quantified, but generally it falls under aesthetic pleasure and a certain set of behaviors that the beholder finds—mmph"

His long-winded explanation abruptly ended as Morgan's lips pressed against his own. Morgan quickly upped the ante by opening his mouth, circulating his jaw and pushing Reid down onto the couch cushions all at the same time. Amid hissing intakes of air, Reid wrapped first one long arm, then the other around Morgan's chiseled waist.

"Exceedingly sexy," Reid breathed against Morgan's cheek.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Morgan nibbled at his ear, slowly burying a hand in Reid's caramel locks. "Should we move this to the bedroom?" he asked, glancing down at the miniature tent growing in Reid's flannel pants.

"I won't make it that far," Reid pulled him back into another kiss. "I want you here, now."

Morgan grinned again, pulling his old tee off of Reid's pale frame. There was still a sizeable bruise on his right shoulder, having tackled Cherise like a linebacker and leaving his upper body to take most of the blame. "I still can't believe you did that, Spencer," he said, looking from the fading bruise to Reid's eyes.

Reid shrugged, smiling at his own recklessness. "It was pretty foolish, wasn't it?"

Morgan shook his head, chuckling. "God, Kid, if I didn't love you, I'd've killed you for being so crazy."

Their smiles evaporated, both Morgan and Reid realizing what he had just said.

"W—what?" Reid asked, fighting a reactionary laugh.

Morgan sat up, releasing his partner. "That—that wasn't supposed to come out like that."

"Is that true?" Reid scootched up on the couch. "I—I mean, did you mean it?"

Morgan swallowed hard, gripping the back of his neck with his right hand. Letting the hand fall after a moment, he exhaled. "Yeah, Spence, I did." After a beat of silence, Morgan sucked in a breath and tried it again.

"I love you, Spencer."

Reid stared up at him, mouth hanging slightly open. The soft tuft of hair leading into the waistband of his flannel pants was rising and falling with each breath, the silence seeming to grow louder as each painful second ticked by. Reid notably blinked his big brown eyes. Clooney resituated himself on the couch.

"I love you too, Derek."

Morgan's neck relaxed slightly. "You—you do?" Reid nodded. "You really do?"

"I really love you, Derek Morgan," Reid smiled, sitting up to bring his lips against Morgan's and wrap his arms around his neck.

Morgan gripped Reid's waist, lifting him off the couch mid-kiss. Wrapping his long legs around Morgan's waist, Reid slithered his tongue into Morgan's mouth as his partner carried him to the bedroom, only making the effort because that was where the lube was kept.

Reid coated Morgan's cock with the clear gel quickly and easily while Morgan prepped his ass with agile fingers, the process all too familiar. Pushing him gently back onto the bed, Reid straddled his partner, bracing himself by holding onto Morgan's marble abs.

"Baby," Morgan groaned as Reid gingerly lowered himself onto his magnificent length. Reid's long, pale feet settled flatly alongside Morgan's bare thighs, his knees bowing out to allow better access to his eager hole. "That's good," Morgan's eyelids slid closed, "real good."

Reid managed a smile, diligently working Morgan's well-endowed shaft inside himself. His muscles tightened against the intrusion, causing a spastic jerk from Morgan's cock and brushing it against his prostate.

"Nngh!" Reid gasped, pleasure emanating from his magic spot.

Morgan grinned. "I love your noises, Pretty Boy," he brought a hand to Reid's pink erection.

"A—and I love y—you," Reid stammered, awkwardly pushing his hips up to start riding Morgan. As he began a slightly quicker descent onto Morgan's cock, Reid repeated himself.

"l lo—love you, D—Derek."

A shudder ripped through Morgan, and he bucked his hips in response. The impossibly tight ring of muscle was warm around his cock, and his partner's words surged through him like an electric current.

"I love you too, Spencer," he answered huskily, beginning a steady rhythm and stroking Reid's cock in time. "How does that feel?"

"It—it feels w—wonderful," Reid answered jerkily, his entire body rising and falling with the force of Morgan's hips. The fading bruise on Reid's shoulder was oddly and inescapably sexy as it bounced, along with the rest of him. "It—it—ahh!"

"You like that?" Morgan coaxed, hitting his partner's pleasure center again and again by guiding his hips with one hand and stroking his member with the other. "Tell me how much you like it, Pretty Boy."

With one hand bracing himself on the bed and one hand gripping a milky white kneecap for dear life, Reid's mouth fell into a perfect O. "I—I like that you—ahh—that we can engage in the—the act of ultimate intimacy. And—nngh—it means—so much more that—we are doing it out of love—that we can—oh, Derek—we can say 'I love you.' It's—it's like we—nngah—we're finally making love."

_Finally making love._ Morgan's heart swelled, and his cock jerked again, eliciting a gasp from his partner. He stopped pumping and grabbed Reid's upper arms. Morgan sat up, prematurely extracting his rock-hard member so he wouldn't come right then, and crashed his mouth against his partner's.

Almost violently, their tongues attacked each other. Their lips smothered one another's face, and Morgan almost snarled a few times as he rotated and flexed his jaw to gain better access to Reid's open mouth. Reid's long fingers wrapped themselves around Morgan's scalp, and with another gentle push, he laid them both back down.

"I love you," Morgan whispered, his breath hot. "I want you to feel me, too."

"You got it," Reid smiled, nipping at his partner's ear as he reached out for the lube that sat idly on the beside table. Coating his fingers, Reid lowered himself between Morgan's spread-eagled legs. "Ready, babe?"

"I was born ready," Morgan answered, balling the sheets in each eager fist. With a gentle kiss on the inside of Morgan's thigh, Reid slid a single nimble finger easily inside.

Reid was practiced at locating his partner's evasive prostate, but it still always took him a few moments. When he scissored his index and middle fingers a few times, the sensual jerk of Morgan's hips and the sultry groan emanating from between his full lips told him he'd found the treasure. With one more kiss on the other respective thigh, Reid kissed his way up Morgan's sculpted, magnificent body until their lips found each other.

Reid's tongue and his slender cock slid in together, penetrating Morgan in two places at once. As Reid began to palm Morgan's achingly erect shaft, a low, needy grunt escaped from the back of Morgan's throat. "Yes, Spencer. Yes."

Reid's deft thumb swept over the tip of Morgan's cock once, twice, three times. His long fingers wrapped around each of Morgan's testicles, tickling and squeezing just enough, as his cock slid in and out of the hot, tight muscle.

"We're finally making love, Spence."

Reid's heart fluttered, and his balls began to slap on the spread skin between Morgan's ass cheeks. He closed his eyes, his mouth falling open again as he began to audibly pant, a telltale precursor to his forthcoming orgasm. "Unh…unh…unh…"

As his partner neared the edge, Morgan gazed dreamily up at the sweaty, pale body hovering above him. His Spencer. His Pretty Boy. His love.

"Ready?" Reid asked breathlessly, rapidly quickening his pace.

"Ready," Morgan muttered, squeezing Reid's ass cheeks with all his might.

The silent eruption happened exactly in sync, accentuated by the sounds of Reid's panting, Morgan's shuddering, and the sickeningly characteristic noises of sweat, skin and lube rubbing against one another.

Hearts thudding, Reid waited until they'd each coasted to a stop before he pulled out, retrieving a Kleenex to catch the leaking fluid and minimize cleanup.

"Oh…my God," Reid flopped on his back beside Morgan.

"That was incredible," Morgan agreed, slowly lolling his head to the side to face his partner. "So that's what making love is like."

"I guess," Reid chuckled. "Do you know the chances of having an exact mutual climax among males is are less than—"

"Pretty Boy, please." Morgan stopped him, holding up a hand. "Does this mean everything is worked out?"

Reid looked away, biting his lower lip. "There's one more thing we still have to do."


	23. Chapter 23

"Y'know," Morgan shut the passenger-side door, "I usually only go home twice a year."

"More broken records," Reid smiled slyly. "You're on a roll."

"Hey, now," Morgan wrapped an arm around his partner's shoulder, "no nookie talk in here."

"Actually," Reid said, holding open the wrought-iron gate, "cemetery intercourse is a widely popular kink—not that I'm entertaining the idea."

"Sure," Morgan nodded.

"A—and there's actually a town in Pennsylvania called Intercourse," Reid continued, relishing how uncomfortable the subject made his lover, "so each cemetery is called Intercourse Cemetery in some way."

"You're very funny," Morgan ruffled his sandy hair, "now shut up."

"Do you think Hotch is still mad at us?" Reid changed the subject, falling into step with Morgan.

"I don't think he ever was," Morgan shook his head, "I mean, I've disagreed with how he does things on a case without being mad at him." He looked at Reid, who met him with a doubtful expression. "I think he was just following policy…trying to make sure Strauss kept off everyone's back."

"But if you think about Monday, when he left the—"

"Spence," Morgan squeezed his side to get him to stop talking, eliciting a startled yelp in the meantime. "I think, even if Hotch was considering anything, the dissertation you wrote would probably set him straight."

"I was merely saying, in a thought-out and concise way, that it would be nothing short of absurd to separate us, or take any further action."

"Well, you're preaching to the choir, Pretty Boy," Morgan said. "_I _already know that." He stepped over a large tree root, the light wind ruffling the leaves overhead. "How much farther?"

"Not much," Reid said, looking around, "I wanted a little privacy, but some shade, too."

"I'm sorry," Morgan pulled him close, "I couldn't find any obscure and exotic plants with mystical powers to bring with us."

"You just don't have the connections I have," Reid quipped, running a long finger along Morgan's side.

"That's all right," Morgan smirked, "I'll keep the ones I have, thanks."

After they crossed the peak of a small hill, Morgan could see the headstone, peeking between two trees and some freshly planted flowers.

"Jeez, Spence, you really went all out."

Reid shrugged modestly. "Rossi gave me a couple suggestions. I—I wanted him to have something special."

Morgan inhaled, then sighed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

Morgan stopped walking, pulling Reid to look him in the eye. "Why'd you get in the car with him?" Reid looked away; they'd already had this talk—two or three times—but Morgan didn't back down. "C'mon, really. This guy openly hated you from the moment he met you."

"He didn't _hate_ me—"

"Spencer."

Reid gave a weak smile, letting his mouth fall open before he was sure of what to say. "I—I knew he wasn't the one that sent those guys on us at the bar that night."

"How?" Morgan put an assertive hand on one hip.

"Did you see the look on his face when you tackled him?" Morgan cocked an eyebrow. "It wasn't an _I got caught _ scared, an _I don't know what I did_ scared."

"Really?" Morgan folded his arms.

"It was clear that once I stood up to him that day we were even," Reid concluded. "I knew he wouldn't…" he swallowed hard, "I knew it was safe to take him with us."

Morgan uncrossed his arms, squeezing one of Reid's hands and leading him toward the headstone again.

The pair fell into step again as they neared the marble block, already engraved with calligraphic text. _Lawrence "Loco" Snyder _read valiantly across the top, with a pair of dates underneath it.

Morgan did all he could to stifle a chuckle. "How'd you learn his real name?"

Reid rocked back and forth on his heels, wiggling his eyebrows and giving the familiar sly smile. "Your family really likes me, you know that?"

"I guess so," Morgan grinned, running a palm along the smooth top of the stone. "Who chose the epitaph?"

"I did," Reid nodded quietly. "I mean, I know I didn't know him that well, but I thought—I thought it seemed appropriate."

"It is, Pretty Boy," Morgan planted a smooch on Reid's right temple. "And I love you."

"I love you too, Derek," Reid smiled down at the headstone.

"_Reputation is for time. Character is for eternity," J.B. Gough_


	24. Author's Note

Hey all! I wanted to post all this during the story, but didn't want to intervene on what was happening/take everyone out of it.

Firstly, I want to thank everyone who left such heartwarming and lovely reviews! You all really made my day; I haven't been doing this for all that long, so it was really good to have all the positive support and appreciation.

I was actually really sad to finish this story because it was a lot of fun to write and I felt like it all unfolded rather easily; Morgan/Reid is a lovely pseudo-reality. But the next muse will strike eventually…

If you follow me on Tumblr [.com] I'll follow you back and we can have awesome fangirl friendships ! Thanks again for all of the encouraging words—they meant a lot.


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